Breaking Barton
by Loise
Summary: Une POV. Set during when Trowa was her underling. She is testing him, waiting for him to break... faint 3x11


**Breaking Barton**

He stood to attention, a young back stretched upwards. He cold, emerald eyes stare forward and his unregulated hair shadowing part of his face, like a mask. I'm tempted to order him to remove it, but, it wouldn't be the same without that fall of hair.

Barton's been awake for thirty six hours.

He has yet to show the strain, I have been pushing him, watching and waiting for the moment for his body to demand rest, I'm testing him to make a folly so I can order him back to his quarters.

I'm tense too, waiting for him to break. Quivering in the anticipation. Waiting for the single moment when he falters and falls. I'll stand over him and he will have submitted. I clench inside.

When I was suggesting that he would work better without his shirt, and he doesn't even hesitate! Seeing that body, defined yet not fully formed. I realize that he is younger than I had estimated. He's not seventeen, a few years younger perhaps. It doesn't quell any thoughts of want.

Someone else would feel guilty, I see him for what he is: Strong. He's stronger than all of them. He has resisted it up to now and no doubt doesn't wish to break. But it isn't about him, it's not his choice. Mine, all mine.

He looks me in the eyes, his posture may be just as erect when we started out yesterday morning but the shadows under his eyes show his weariness. I feel a sense of victory over him, knowing no matter what he does, he will never have full control of his body. Over his, or over mine.

No, I've gone to far to quick. It's going to be slow, steady and when I finally take him all in... I'll show him how strong I am.

Till then I watch him, watching him about to break.

Barton wavers in his footstep and my eyes light up, not pleasantly. He simply refuses to look in my direction, denying his mistake by ignoring all and just continuing with his movements.

I know however, that he can't last much longer. This test, has been very informative about his stamina and skills, but now he rests on the edge of collapse.

I lean forward, resting my hand on my chin and smile eagerly at him.

Still...

He has proved himself in many ways, Barton has pride and he won't back down and submit to me just quite yet. He'll keep on going until he either breaks down or... If I order him to do so.

Standing taller I contemplate Barton, his muscles moving ever slower to defeat. The defiant tensing of her jaw. His cold, powerful eyes shutting and snapping open is the brief respite.

"Barton!" I bark out.

He looks up, wearily and then comes smartly to attention, eyes staring stormily ahead and just above my head, "Yes, ma'am!" He says, softly quietly. Not like those rookie thugs who barely have a day's training between them. He speaks with experience. I narrow my eyes in thought, and regard him thoughtfully for a moment. Later, I'll think about this. It flies out of mind with out a second thought.

"Dismissed."

He's ready to protest, I see it in his shoulders that lean forward in my way, how his legs tense and take a small step and in his eyes flashing with anger. He stares intently in my eyes. Searching, gazing at them and holding them with this strange power that I cannot let go of. I'm his commanding officer and his he just a MS pilot.

I realize what he is looking for soon, he wants to see whether I am doing this bout of pity, disgust or another deplorable emotion. He doesn't see that in my brown eyes. I square my shoulder and slowly raise an eyebrow. This isn't for his weakness, but for his strength.

Nodding, he turns and salutes. There isn't relief in his eyes, respect but not gratitude. I incline my head back, sternly. His lips twist and I ponder what he finds so amusing. An old hag like me lusting after him? I shake my head ruefully, struck at my own humour.

I watch him leave, tired myself. His long torso swaying with his tense march. His footsteps with his heavy, leather boots are remarkably quiet, the tread careful.

He's strong, not fragile. Even if I bend him, he'll stay together. He's waiting for something, someone. I wonder, who could captivate him so... Whether it could be me.

Weary, I walk to my chambers and stop, smirking. Till then, I'll see that he bends under my hand, bends to breaking point. Just to see that he can.

* * *

_Notes: I do not own GW_


End file.
